The Last Daughter of the Noldor
by SilverElvenEyes
Summary: Fëanor was the greatest of the Noldorin elves that had ever lived, who tried and failed to drive a fallen Vala from Middle-Earth—now his only daughter must save Middle-Earth from Morgoth’s return. PLEASE review, my first Silmaril fic! She's not Mary-
1. Chapter One: Introduction

Title:

The Last Daughter of the Noldor

Disclaimer:

Despite what Jesse says in this story, I do not have any contacts with Christopher Tolkien, and J.R.R. Tolkien did not write this story. All recognizable characters are Tolkien's and I do not own them. I am not making money off this. This story was written purely for enjoyment only. I do not claim that Legolas, Fingolfin, Finarfin, or any other names or places invented by Tolkien are mine.

Series:

None

Spoilers:

A few minor ones for _The Silmarillion_

Feedback: LadyoftheRings35@hotmail.com

Summary:

Fëanor was the greatest of the Noldorin elves that had ever lived. He had seven sons who went with him to Middle-Earth to reclaim the Silmarils from Morgoth, a fallen Vala. The Noldor declared war on Morgoth, and in the end, he was driven from Middle-Earth and locked away with the aid of the Valar—now his only daughter, some thousands of years later, must help save Middle-Earth from Morgoth's return.

Chapter One

The Introduction

Jesse shut down his laptop and ran a hand through his hair, looking out his window over San Francisco. It was a beautiful clear day, and through the open window, he could hear the faint call of the seagulls. 

            "Daaad! Come _on! I'm gonna be late for school!" Daniel yelled from the driveway, hopping up and down. Jesse smiled and stood up. _

            "Be there in a second, son."

            His keys lightly jangling from one hand, the father of Daniel and Katie Tryems and husband to Suzie, could not help but wonder how the children of Daniel's fifth grade class would react to his profession. Katie was in eight grade, and luckily her "what does your parent do?" conference had been held the week before. Suzie would have gone to Daniel's conference, but she had to work today. So it was left up to Jesse to take a rather agitated Daniel to school and explain what he did for a living.

            He got the feeling that he was going to get blank looks all around from the class, but so be it. After all, he was doing what he loved, and that was all that really mattered.

            He locked the door and got in their Mitsubishi Sudan, started the car and backed down the driveway. Daniel looked straight ahead, his face tense with worry. Jesse glanced over at him briefly before concentrating on the traffic. "Don't worry, Daniel. I'm not going to do so something to embarrass you."

            Daniel gave one of those you-can't-even-tell-when-you-embarrass-me sighs. Jesse had to hide a smile under one hand. Kids. "Really, I'll be careful Daniel."

            "It's okay, dad," Daniel said gloomily.

            Jesse chuckled. "My profession's not that bad, is it?"

            "No, I love your profession. It's just…"

            "You don't know how the other kids are going to respond?"

            "Exactly."

            Jesse patted his son's knee. "However they respond, I'm proud to be your father and proud to have you as my son. That should be all that is important."

            "Uh huh." Daniel did not sound convinced, but Jesse let it drop since they had reached the school.

            He dropped Daniel off and spent twenty minutes trying to find a parking space and another five locating his room. By the time he was in there, almost all of the other dads had gone. From Daniel's expression, they must have all be either the King of Siam or the CEO of IBM. 

            "And so working at IBM has been a great opportunity," one dad was saying as he finished up. Jesse was once again tempted to start laughing but stifled it for his son's sake. 

            "All right, thank you Mr. Peterson…and next up we have Daniel's father, Mr. Tryems! Lets all give him a big hand."

            Drearily the class clapped, the kids looking bored silly. Daniel and Jesse went to stand at the front of the classroom. 

            "This is my dad, Jesse," Daniel began. One kid yawned. "He works for…he studies the languages of Middle-Earth."

            There was a pause. The kids seemed a bit puzzled, slightly more awake. Sensing his son's uncertainty, Jesse smoothly took over.

            "Good afternoon, class. My name is Jesse Tryems, and I am a scholar of Middle-Earth."

            One fifth grader's eyes popped open wide and her hand shot into the air. "Can you speak elvish?" she asked breathlessly.

            Jesse's smile widened. "You've read the books, I take it?"

            "Twice," the girl declared, ignoring the annoyed looks from her fellow classmates. 

            "Good for you," he said warmly. "Yes, I can speak elvish, and a few other languages. I have been studying Middle-Earth since I was a fifth grader, and I've written some articles about J.R.R. Tolkien's works."

            "Have you read the Silmarillion?" the girl asked, practically hanging off his every word. 

            "Yes I have. I've even read some things that Tolkien wrote that were never even published."

            "Really?" The girl was half out of her desk. "Could you tell us one of them? Right now? Please?"

            He glanced at the teacher who gave a slight nod. "I don't see why not." He leaned against the teacher's desk. "Ah, were to begin?" He snapped his fingers, making Daniel jump from nerves. "Aha, I have it. Why not the story of Náriel?"

            "Náriel? Who was he?"

            "She," Jesse corrected. "She was the greatest of all the elves, save her father only, and some say she surpassed even him."

            "Who was her father?" one kid asked, half interested in spite of himself.

            "An elf," Jesse said with a twinkle in his eyes, "by the name of Fëanor, the Fire Spirit. This is one of the tales that Tolkien never published; he never thought that it was worthy of publishing I guess, or maybe for some other reason. Anyway, it has never made it into print. It is just because I know Christopher Tolkien that I was allowed to read it.

"Anyway, a long time ago during the Seventh Age of men, three full Ages since the waning of the magic creatures, the Elves and the Dwarves and all other such folk, deep in the Undying Lands trouble was brewing once more for the Noldorin elves…"


	2. Chapter Two: He Is Coming

Title:

The Last Daughter of the Noldor

Disclaimer:

Despite what Jesse says in this story, I do not have any contacts with Christopher Tolkien, and J.R.R. Tolkien did not write this story. All recognizable characters are Tolkien's and I do not own them. I am not making money off this. This story was written purely for enjoyment only. I do not claim that Legolas, Fingolfin, Finarfin, or any other names or places invented by Tolkien are mine.

Series:

None

Spoilers:

A few minor ones for _The Silmarillion_

Feedback: LadyoftheRings35@hotmail.com

Summary:

Fëanor was the greatest of the Noldorin elves that had ever lived. He had seven sons who went with him to Middle-Earth to reclaim the Silmarils from Morgoth, a fallen Vala. The Noldor declared war on Morgoth, and in the end, he was driven from Middle-Earth and locked away with the aid of the Valar—now his only daughter, some thousands of years later, must help save Middle-Earth from Morgoth's return.

Chapter Two

He Is Coming…

            Náriel frowned as she came upon the softly speaking elves. "What is this?" she demanded. "Is what the mariners are saying true? Is he returned?"

            The elves looked at each other and finally one spoke. "We do not know," he said. "We have heard only rumors."

            "What do the Valar say?"

            "The Valar are silent."

            Náriel brooded for a second and then turned on her heel and made straight away for the docks of the Teleri, wondering if the rumors were true, and if they were what it would mean.

            The Teleri were singing softly as they were want to do. Some were sailing in ships and some were pulling in nets of fish. None of them noticed the young, fiery Noldorin elf coming towards them until she spoke, startling one or two of them to spring into the sea.

            "Teleri elves," she said sternly, "is what the rumors are saying true? Has he truly returned?"

            One elf stepped forward, Círdan. His eyes were dark and thoughtful as he spoke. "This does not concern you, Noldorin elf. Go back to your people."

            "It does indeed concern me, Lord Círdan. I ask you again; are the rumors true?"

            Círdan glanced to one side momentarily and then met her eyes squarely again. "Yes, Náriel, they are true."

            The elf hesitated. Then, "Both of them?"

            Slowly, ever so slightly, he nodded. 

            Náriel had the presence of mind to bow to the Lord of the Teleri before turning away and making haste back to Túna, to Tirion, and to her people. 

            Her time had come; she had much to do if she was to be ready.

*     *     *     *

            Fingolfin looked upon his niece gravely. While he looked to be in body the younger of the two, he was in actuality many, many years older than the burning spirit standing in front of him. "Niece, this cannot be. I myself have only recently been released from the Halls of Mandos. Fëanor your father has long to wait yet before he will be granted physical form again."

            "But the mariners said they saw him," she protested. "Walking along the coasts, young in body but old in mind."

            "The mariners may have been mistaken," her other uncle and the youngest of the two, Finarfin, said gently. "You must understand, some of the things your father did…the Kinslaying at Alqualondë…these things the Valar do not lightly forgive."

            "But the Valar do not deny it!"

            "Nor do they affirm it."

            Náriel turned away in frustration. "It must be true. Elven eyes do not lie."

            Finarfin and Fingolfin exchanged concerned glances. The girl's words were too much like her father's for their comfort. "Please Náriel, trust us when we say that it is most likely an elf similar in statue to your father. One of your brothers, perhaps?"

            "It is my father," the girl said stubbornly. 

            "Child…"

            "Do not call me that! I have not been a child for more than a handful of ages!"

            "And yet, seeming to us you are a child, for we are yet older than thee," Finarfin pointed out calmly.

            Náriel ground her teeth. "I must find out if it is true." She turned to leave but Fingolfin stopped her.

            "Náriel, please do nothing rash." He looked into the face of his niece, her eyes burning much as Fëanor's eyes had a habit of doing, and sighed. "Náriel, you are strong and young and full of life but I fear for you. Please, do not do anything reckless."

            Náriel bowed her head slightly in assent, and then pushed past, heading towards the Ring of Doom, to speak with the Valar. 

            Fingolfin shook his head slightly as he sat down upon the edge of a resting cot, clasping his hands in front of him. His brother went to the window and looked out, allowing the cool breeze to run its fingers through his hair and out past him, his dark eyes glimmering as he stared straight and unblinking into the setting sun as he had a habit of doing, when he was thoughtful. Fingolfin smiled as he watched his younger brother; so grave, so wise…wiser than I, he thought with a quiet sigh. So much bloodshed I saw in Middle-Earth, so much pain. Why Náriel would wish to go there, I will never…

            "She seeks more than her father, brother." Finarfin's words were soft but the echoed Fingolfin's own thoughts. "She seeks a reason behind his motives. She wants to know why he has waited so long, unembodied, in the Halls of Waiting. She wants to know what he did that was such an atrocity that no Teleri elf will speak his name aloud. She wants to know why the Valar are silent. And she wants to know why the elves left Middle-Earth to begin with."

            "Brother, I could speak the answers to all those questions, but she will not hear me! She will not listen."

            "Of course not," Finarfin said. "Like you would not listen to my council when I warned you that going to Middle-Earth would bring great sorrow down upon your people."

            "You need not remind me," Fingolfin sighed. "I am only trying to protect her from making my mistakes."

            "Sometimes that is not possible. Sometimes the young must repeat our mistakes to learn from them. She hears you, brother, but she does not understand. She must see before she can believe."

            "So doubtful a child, so fiery a spirit," he murmured. "Daughter of Fire she was named, and well chosen the name was. She is the most alike of all Fëanor's children to Fëanor himself."

            "And your favorite," Finarfin concluded with a gentle smile. 

            "And my favorite," Fingolfin admitted. "She does not possess his mindless anger at the world."

            "She was born in a different time under different circumstances."

            "Do you think that Fëanor would have waited for her to be born, if Nerdanel had told him that she was pregnant?"

            "No. He was fey at the time; no word would have stilled him."

            Fingolfin came to stand beside his brother. "I am glad. I would not have her in Middle-Earth, not have to watch her die from his recklessness."

            Finarfin nodded slowly. "It is good that Nerdanel kept the girl here, safe, in Valinor."

            "And now she yearns for the open lands of Middle-Earth. All of our tales of Middle-Earth are ones of sorrow, how could she want to see it?"

            "To meet Middle-Earth's peoples, perhaps? The dwarves, the men, the elves there, our distant kin?"

            "I have been there, Finarfin. Middle-Earth is nothing compared to Valinor."

            "It is novel. That is all she cares about. And it is our first home, where we were born and, maybe, where we will die."

            Fingolfin turned slowly to his brother. "You believe then, that Morgoth has returned? That someone summoned him back to Middle-Earth? But what force in Arda could break the chains set upon him in the First Age of the Sun? For ever Eärendil keeps watch upon Morgoth, lest he find somewhere out again."

            Finarfin's face was troubled. "Two only have the power to rebuke all of the Valar. Eru, the One."

            Here Finarfin paused for a long moment until Fingolfin finally said, "That is one, brother. Two you say?"

            "And the other is the race of Men."


	3. Chapter Three: An Elven Emissary

Title:

The Last Daughter of the Noldor

Disclaimer:

Despite what Jesse says in this story, I do not have any contacts with Christopher Tolkien, and J.R.R. Tolkien did not write this story. All recognizable characters are Tolkien's and I do not own them. I am not making money off this. This story was written purely for enjoyment only. I do not claim that Legolas, Fingolfin, Finarfin, or any other names or places invented by Tolkien are mine.

Series:

None

Spoilers:

A few minor ones for _The Silmarillion_

Feedback: LadyoftheRings35@hotmail.com

Summary:

Fëanor was the greatest of the Noldorin elves that had ever lived. He had seven sons who went with him to Middle-Earth to reclaim the Silmarils from Morgoth, a fallen Vala. The Noldor declared war on Morgoth, and in the end, he was driven from Middle-Earth and locked away with the aid of the Valar—now his only daughter, some thousands of years later, must help save Middle-Earth from Morgoth's return.

Chapter Three

An Elven Emissary

            Náriel returned broken-hearted from speaking with Mandos. The Vala's words had been cold, or so it had seemed to her. "Your father is being punished for the terrible, unforgivable crimes of killing his own kin," the Vala had said sternly. "It is not your place to demand he be released when the wisdom of Manwë and my own words forbid it. Go home, Princess of the Noldorin."

            Aimlessly Náriel wondered Túna, the hill upon which was set Tirion the city of the Elves. Her face was bleak and her eyes distant as her feet took her first one way and then another. 

            Her father, a murderer?

            She had heard the tales of course, of the slaying at Alqualondë, but she had always thought Fëanor had been provoked or had misunderstood or some such thing.

            "I am the daughter of a kin slayer," she said aloud, and her voice was full of sorrow. "Does that make me one, too?"

            No one answered Náriel as she stood on Túna, looking across Valinor. 

*     *     *     *

            "_Îdh ned sîdh, iaur mellon," Legolas murmured as he knelt by Gimli's grave. "May your axe be kept sharp and your wit no less cutting than ever it was."_

            "He is safe in the halls of his fathers," Galadriel said quietly behind him. "Working away on some new project to pass the years."

            Legolas looked up and smiled, but there were tears in the elf's silvery-gray eyes. "Yes, Lady. But I miss him still."

            Galadriel smiled sadly in return. "As do I."

            "Legolas!"

            Legolas turned as Náriel ran towards him. Her pace slowed and she paused long enough to bow to her cousin before turning to Legolas. He smiled and bowed over her hand. A fleeting smile came to her face; of all the elves in Valinor, she counted herself closest to the tall and handsome Sindarin prince from Middle-Earth.

            "I am sorry to disturb you," she said. "But I need your help."

            "I am glad to help you, Lady."

            "Náriel, Legolas. Three thousand years of men you have called me Lady. For once, please call me Náriel."

            "As you wish—Lady Náriel."

            Náriel shook her head. "I can not win this battle can I? If you will excuse us?" she added to Galadriel before leading Legolas swiftly down the hill where his dwarven friend was buried and into the lush valley below. Legolas, realizing she was probably taking him somewhere quiet to talk, as she normally did. 

            She followed a woodland path under the trees, knowing it was where he loved best to be. The trees were not _mallorn, but they were beautiful and ancient, and Legolas enjoyed the company of this forest. At last, they reached a small nook by a waterfall that poured into a small pond. Náriel dropped down beside the water under the shade of a willow._

            "So what is it that was so important that you had to drag me across half of all Valinor to tell me, hmm?" Legolas asked, raising an eyebrow. Secretly he was glad that she had interrupted; as much as he loved remembering his dwarven friend, the memories were often clouded with sorrow—so much death in the elf's life, so much dear to him had been lost, it was sometimes difficult to face those memories.

            But Náriel was no longer smiling, and her face was bleak with sorrow. "Morgoth has returned, Legolas."

*     *     *     *

            Fingolfin stared at his niece in complete and utter shock. She was slightly shorter than him, by about half a hand's width, but she could still look him firmly in the eye as she was presently doing. "You have lost your mind. You cannot go back to Middle-Earth!"

            "I can and I will. I have spoken with the Valar; they have plainly said they will not keep me here. It is not for revenge, I told them, but to defend Middle-Earth against the return of Morgoth."

            "You do not know that it was Morgoth who the eagles saw," Finarfin said sternly. "You could be going to nothing but your own death."

            "I want to see the world, uncle! I weary of perfect here and perfection there. I want to see greed and anger and jealousy—all the things not present here!"

            "All the negative things, things that by right have no reason to be in this world."

            "Maybe they don't, but I want to see them nonetheless. It is my right."

            "You are going into danger."

            "I am not your child!" Náriel said hotly.

            "I am your king," Fingolfin shot back, and that brought her up short.

            "Will you order me to remain, my king?" she asked stiffly, her body erect.

            "I ask you as my niece to remain."

            "I am sorry, uncle, I cannot do that. Morgoth has come back, I know it. We must defeat him now before he catches a hold in Middle-Earth."

            "You do not know it—and even if he has, the Noldor fought against him, elfling, and we lost! There is no force of elves large enough—nay, not even if all the hosts of elves in Middle-Earth and Valinor came together under one army, not even then could we defeat him. He is a Vala, too powerful to be defeated."

            She turned to Finarfin, her eyes burning with excitement, not the least put out by her uncle's hesitancy. "You once told me, uncle, that there were only two things that could bring Morgoth back."

            Finarfin looked uneasy as he nodded.

            "Men and Eru, no?"

            Again he nodded.

            "Does it not work the same to say that Men could send him back?" Excited, she turned back to Fingolfin. "Together we could send him back to the Void! Elves and Men together!"

            "First of all, you do not know that he has returned. Secondly, elves and men _did try to send him back, and it was only because of the Valar that we succeeded. And even if all you say comes true and there is again an alliance between Men and Elves, not all men will flock to your banners, nor all elves. Have you ever considered how few elves there are left in Middle-Earth? Merely a handful, and they are dark and rustic folk. The ships have stopped coming to Valinor for millennia, child. And Men, men are weak. They will flock the banners of the strongest liar, and Morgoth is that by far. No, you have no hope of winning a war that may or may not be there."_

            Tears were in Náriel's eyes, dark tears of denial. "But uncle, I dreamt he returned and tried to take Middle-Earth! I dreamt that only one of the elves was able to stop him!"

            "Dreams are fickle, child."

            Náriel looked silently out the window for a long moment before turning back to them, her face set. "War or no, I will go to Middle-Earth, to see if all you say is true. If I am wrong then I will return. But if I am right, and I know I am, look for my message coming from the eagles." With that, the last child of Fëanor turned and forsook Valinor, taking with her a few small numbers of elves who desired to see the open world. Among them were Legolas Greenleaf and some of his kin, who desired to look upon Middle-Earth again. The Valar did not stop her, for they knew that like her father Fëanor she would go, forbidden or not—and for another reason also. They feared that Náriel's dream may well be a prophecy, that Morgoth had indeed slipped their nets and returned to Middle-Earth. If so, they needed to know and quickly, to prepare. Two of the Teleri came also with the fiery young Noldorin woman, and with one vessel, they sailed across the sea, back into the world of men.

*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*

Îdh ned sîdh, mellon-iaur = Rest in peace, old friend.


	4. Chapter Four: A Big Surprise

Title:

The Last Daughter of the Noldor

Disclaimer:

Despite what Jesse says in this story, I do not have any contacts with Christopher Tolkien, and J.R.R. Tolkien did not write this story. All recognizable characters are Tolkien's and I do not own them. I am not making money off this. This story was written purely for enjoyment only. I do not claim that Legolas, Fingolfin, Finarfin, or any other names or places invented by Tolkien are mine.

Series:

None

Spoilers:

A few minor ones for _The Silmarillion_

Feedback: LadyoftheRings35@hotmail.com

Summary:

Fëanor was the greatest of the Noldorin elves that had ever lived. He had seven sons who went with him to Middle-Earth to reclaim the Silmarils from Morgoth, a fallen Vala. The Noldor declared war on Morgoth, and in the end, he was driven from Middle-Earth and locked away with the aid of the Valar—now his only daughter, some thousands of years later, must help save Middle-Earth from Morgoth's return.

Chapter Four

A Big Surprise

            Robin looked out from the wharf and frowned. He did not have the best eyes of his people, but even he could see what the villagers were staring at. Theirs was a fishing community, small and out of the way along the coasts of Middle-Earth. Nothing this exciting had happened in the past three generations.

            "A ship!" someone shouted. "A ship out of the west!"

            Robin squinted and now he could see it better. A single white ship with silver sail and a prow shaped like a swan with wings just beginning to unfold. But the sailors he could not see, though he caught the glimmer of sun on metal.

            "Get the governor!" Robin shouted. One boy broke off from the group and ran to find the governor. 

            The ship sailed closer and closer. At last, it turned broad side just out of arrow range, still too far away to see exactly who the people were, and there was a horn call, unlike any that Robin had ever heard. It was sweet and high, carrying easily over the waters. The ship's motion stopped and she stayed broad side to them. Robin squinted on the ship and his jaw fell open.

            "I'll be the son of a codfish," he whispered. "But those are the most beautiful people I have ever laid eyes on."

            "Humans!" a call came, feminine, but stern and commanding, and a tall figure could been seen watching them. "We ask permission to dock! Will you allow us?"

            At that moment the governor, a shrewd little man with an eye for money waddled up, and squinted at the white ship. "Let's hear your name first, woman, and then we'll decide."

            There was a pause. "Your manners are somewhat lacking, human leader," the voice said, dryly. "But my name is Náriel of the house of Finwë, last born child and only daughter of the Lord Fëanor of the people of the Noldor. Again, I ask permission to dock. Say nay or yea, and we will leave you in peace."

            The governor looked rather stumped at her list of titles and fair, ringing voice. It was a not a voice that belonged to a human. "Who are you and where do you come from, Náriel?"

            "I am Lady Náriel, and I come from across the seas, from the land of Valinor, where the Valar dwell."

            "A-and what manner of race are you?" the governor asked, looking like he was about to throw himself onto a horse and run for his life.

            "I am one of the Eldar kindred, the _egladhrim, the Firstborn, or among your people, the Elves."_

            The governor was good for small bandit invasions and the occasional feast, but myths reborn as living creatures, ships made from white timbers and sails spun from silver were too much for the little man. He keeled over and had to be carried away. 

            Robin found his mouth going dry. He had heard tales of elves, of course, and sometimes you see one slinking about in a forest; but these were no rustic folk with stone tools. These were the elves he had heard referred to as the High Elves—the more powerful, and dangerous, of the elf kinds.

            "Answer me!" came the shout, annoyed now. "Nay or yea, we must dock today!"

            Robin found his voice. "Yea!" he called hoarsely. "You are welcome to dock, Lady Náriel."

            One of the men pulled him aside. "I don't care if you're the governor's son or not," he snarled. "What are you doing, letting them elves dock here? They could be dangerous!"

            "They've already said that they will dock elsewhere if we do not want them landing here," Robin replied.

            "Then let them dock elsewhere!"

            "Have some faith," Robin advised. "And be careful what you say. If these are the elves, returned after some thousands of years, then we will need to be polite."

            "Elves? There hasn't been elves in Middle –Earth for ten thousand years! You don't really believe all that mumbo jumbo, do you, Robin? About the elves and the dwarves and wizards and Halflings?"

            Robin nodded with his head to the white ship sailing towards them. "There is your living proof, Hared."

            Hared grunted and moved off, still scowling and less doubtful. Robin could barely contain his excitement. The elves, returned, after all this time? It was a dream come true!"

            The docking was swift and efficient. One man—elf, Robin reminded himself—sprang lightly from the ship and landed on the slippery dock with ease, helping to tie the ropes that would keep the ship in place. A ramp was lowered and the elves began to dock, looking around them and whispering in their own tongue. It was a lyrical sounding language, and their voices mingled sweetly together, low and high, deep and soft.

            Then all eyes were turned upon the ramp, for descending was an Elf-Lady out of the stories. Clothed in all white, her long dark hair flowing down her back and a coronet of gold upon her brow. Her eyes were dark and shinning, and her lips pale rose pink. She glanced upon the men and they flinched away from her. Less beautiful than queenly did she look, for they were all fairer than men. Some had silver hair, others gold, most raven. Their eyes ranged from silver-gray to nearly black. Complexions varied as well, but most were pale or fair. Two of them were more copper colored in skin tones. All were taller than the humans were, most over six feet by a few inches, none under five feet eleven inches.

            The Lady-Elf was escorted by a tall, blond elf with blue eyes and a very fair complexion. He stopped at the end of the ramp and glanced about briefly, and said something to the women in their tongue, before escorting her to the front of the humans, stopping a few feet away. The woman and her escort bowed their heads slightly; Robin did the same, though his men looked at the elves suspiciously.

            "Greetings, man-of-the-coast," the Lady said in lightly accented Common. "What is your name?"

            Robin had to swallow and catch his breath. Having so many eyes upon him was unnerving. "My name is Robin Goodfellow, my lady."

            "And are you this village's leader?"

            "Nay, Lady, our leader is…ill right now. I am his son."

            "Well met then, Lord Robin Goodfellow. I am Lady Náriel of the Noldor, house of Finwë and daughter of Fëanor."

            "Welcome, Lady Náriel," Robin said, stumbling for something to say. "Ah, how was your journey?"

            Náriel's face broke out in smile, softening the mood of the meeting. "Fair enough, my lord."

            "Oh please Lady, I am no lord."

            "If co-ruler of this village you are, then ruler of some sort you must be, no?"

            "I suppose…Lady, if I may ask…are you one of the, ah…"

            Náriel waited patiently, but her escort laughed and said, "Are we Elves? Yes indeed we are."

            "This is Legolas of the Sindar," Náriel introduced. "And my friends, Gilwen, Rillîn and Cúron of the Vanyar." She motioned to the three elves with golden hair. "And this is Aurfaltho and Silivren of the Teleri." Two elves with silver hair bowed. "This is Bregolas, Ninglor, Talagan, Feredir, Lalaith, Lathron, Cenendril, and Niphredil of the Noldor. We come in peace."

            Suspiciously, one man called out, "And what do ye come for, Lady of the Elves?"

            She turned her piercing gaze on him and he took a step back. "To defend Middle-Earth from the return of Morgoth."

*     *     *     *

            "Surely you have heard the tales of Morgoth's hold in Middle-Earth during the First Age?" Náriel asked, shocked not only by the uncouthness of the men, but also their smell. To the sensitive nostrils that had, until as of late, smelt only the sea, clean air, and flowers, the scent of unwashed bodies was a little overwhelming. She sat stiffly in an uncomfortable chair, next to a wide-open window. The men were very nervous about this, and kept insisting that clean air was bad for you and that she would fall ill. 

            "Well, we've heard some old, old tales, but we thought that they were merely that; tales." Robin leaned forward eagerly. "Do you really come from across the sea? Is there land there?"

            She nodded. "But it is a path that no mortal can follow."

            "What do you mean by that?"

            "No mortal man nor dwarf nor halfing can follow the Straight Road to Valinor, Lord Robin Goodfellow. Only the Elves now."

            "But why?"

            "It is a long story and one full of sorrow. I will speak of it later, if you wish."

            Robin nodded and hastily sent for some refreshments, mentally kicking himself for forgetting something like that. "We would be happy to put you and your—um—people up in the village, Lady Náriel."

            Náriel was a good actress, but even she could not suppress a slight flinch at the thought of staying in the smelly cesspool. Legolas, standing guard beside her, answered instead. "Thank you, Lord Robin, but I believe for now our people would prefer to stay somewhere more familiar, until we better learn your customs." 

            Robin nodded. "Do they always behave so nervously?" Náriel asked Legolas in Sindarin. 

            "Only when they are young. When they are older they try to bluff everyone into believing they are more important then they truly are."

            "Ah," Náriel murmured thoughtfully, turning her gaze back on Robin who was shifting nervously. "Is something bothering you, my lord?"

            "Um, well you see…there haven't been any elves around this part for thousands of years, maybe even longer. Folk are just a bit…"

            "Nervous? Seeing things long though vanished reappearing overnight?" Nariel guessed.

            "Yes, that too. But also, they want to know, why are you coming back just as the summons are starting."

            Legolas and Náriel exchanged glances. "What summons?"

            "The summons to join the army."

*     *     *     *

            Náriel hissed with rage, her teeth clenched as she stalked back and forth in her small cabin. Legolas was lying on his side on her bed, watching the Noldor with concern. "My Lady, the floors can only take so much wear and tear," Legolas said in that light, lilting voice of his. 

            "I would love to tear them apart with my bare hands!" she returned sharply. "Summoned to fight with Morgoth? Are these humans daft, do they have no brains? Do they not even listen to what was just yesterday common history?"

            "My Lady," Legolas said, swinging his feet out from the bed and standing. "You think like an elf, as you have been taught. I have lived and fought among humans; time passes very quickly for them. Things that to us were done not long ago, for them are almost immeasurably long periods of time. Morgoth claims to be helping this kingdom of men rid of the kingdom of another—Morgoth's common tactics. Chaos, that is. If the humans are embroiled in a war with each other, he has time to settle his hold back into Middle-Earth again while the humans tear each other to pieces."

            "They seem very gullible."

            "Few have our powers of foresight." He hesitated. "Lady, we must try to locate the realms of Gondor and Rohan. They were ever the noblest of humans in Middle-Earth. Also we should see if any elves or dwarves remain here. We will need allies to fight this war."

            Náriel nodded slowly. "Yes, we will need aid. Do we have any maps of Middle-Earth?"

            "A few. I brought one with me, but I do not know exactly where we have landed. I must talk with that Lord Robin fellow."

            "He is not such a terrible fellow, is he?"

            "No. He seems to be the only one here who does not either run when we approach, or are openly aggressive towards us. I suggest we leave as soon as possible."

            "I wish to make an alliance with these men, Legolas. I must get to know them and their customs."

            Legolas' face was troubled. "Lady, it is not wise to long remain here. We must find our kin and swiftly. Only they will be able to help us."

            "I agree that we must leave soon, but not yet. We must—"

            Náriel's voice was cut off as their keen elven ears caught the sound of screaming. Talagan stuck his head into the cabin. "My Lady, the villagers are under attack!"


	5. Chapter Five: Bandits!

Title:

The Last Daughter of the Noldor

Disclaimer:

Despite what Jesse says in this story, I do not have any contacts with Christopher Tolkien, and J.R.R. Tolkien did not write this story. All recognizable characters are Tolkien's and I do not own them. I am not making money off this. This story was written purely for enjoyment only. I do not claim that Legolas, Fingolfin, Finarfin, or any other names or places invented by Tolkien are mine.

Series:

None

Spoilers:

A few minor ones for _The Silmarillion_

Feedback: LadyoftheRings35@hotmail.com

Summary:

Fëanor was the greatest of the Noldorin elves that had ever lived. He had seven sons who went with him to Middle-Earth to reclaim the Silmarils from Morgoth, a fallen Vala. The Noldor declared war on Morgoth, and in the end, he was driven from Middle-Earth and locked away with the aid of the Valar—now his only daughter, some thousands of years later, must help save Middle-Earth from Morgoth's return.

A/N: Thanks for the encouraging reviews! Aria: How do I put the story in the Silmarillion archive? I didn't even know there was an archive…oh well. As for breakages of cannon…*sheepish grin* Truth be told, I haven't actually read The Silmarillion or the History of Middle Earth in FAR too long—about two years. I'm rereading the Silmarillion currently, but I've only just gotten to the eleventh chapter, so I have a ways to go. Please forgive me if I make a stupid mistake somewhere in here…and you're right about the elfling thing, I'll go change that. As for Mandos, I completely forgot about him wandering the shores…its definitely an idea. Thanks for all the great feedback you guys!

_"….and here in Rivendell there live still some of his chief foes: the Elven-wise, lords of the Eldar from beyond the furthest seas. They do not fear the Ringwraiths, for those who have dwelt in the Blessed Realm live at once in both worlds, and against both the Seen and the Unseen they have great power."_

_"I thought that I saw a white figure that shone and did not grow dim like the others. Was that Glorfindel then?"_

_"Yes, you saw him for a moment as he is upon the other side: one of the mighty of the Firstborn. He is an Elf-lord of a house of princes."_

_-The Fellowship of the Rings, Many Meetings_

Chapter Five

Bandits!

            Legolas slipped his quiver over his head and slid two knives into the sheath on his back. Náriel watched him out of the corner of her eye as she choose a short glaive, a weapon* similar to that used in the Second Age during the battle of the Last Alliance. She tested its weight, and then sprang up the steps to the top deck. Already fires were breaking out in the village and people were screaming. The men were trying to hold the bandits, but the bandits were on horseback and easily trampled their defenses, setting fires to crops and houses. 

            "Cast off!" Náriel yelled over the clamor. "Don't let us get caught in the cross-fire! Cast off, keep the sails safe!"

            Ten out of the fifteen elves, Náriel included, jumped to the docks and cut the ropes holding the ship secure. The remaining five elves pushed the boat into open water, and out of bow range. Or at least, out of human bow range. Elven bows could reach much further because of the substances they are made from. Two elves held the boat steady while the remaining three, Rillîn, Cúron and Ninglor shot at the scrambling bandits who suddenly realized that they were not alone. 

            On shore, Náriel and Legolas were trying to round up the remaining men to marshal an attack. One bandit charged Náriel, a blood stained scimitar in one hand, going for a head swipe.

            Náriel waited until his steed was close enough to hear her easily before crying, "Throw him and flee, my friend!" in Quenya.

            The horse reacted instantly, slamming to a stop and throwing the rider with a quick buck. The mare then trotted off, reins dangling. 

            The bandit never had a chance to get up; Legolas' arrow took him through the throat.

            "I could have handled him!" Náriel protested, but Legolas was busy fending off another bandit. 

            Náriel charged a group of bandits who were trying to drag three young women from their houses. One sweep of her glaive cut the first bandit cleanly in half. The other two bandits lunged in with swords ready. Náriel ducked the first swipe, kicked the man in the throat, rolled to one side, and drove the curved sword up into the second bandit's back and through his lung. She jerked the blade free and turned to block a blow from a fourth man. He held an axe in his hands.

            "I hate axes," Náriel muttered and danced out of range as the man charged. She raised her voice to be heard over the shouting and clanging of metal. "_Let us end this, Legolas!"_

            Legolas paused long enough to give her a nod, and then passed the command down the line to the other elves. It was time to end the battle before one of her people got hurt.

            As the axe man again took a s   wipe at her, Náriel sidestepped and then began to shine white. She had veiled herself to as not to alarm the humans, as had all the other elves; but now it was time to show these bandits that it was not wise to attack a village where the High Elves were staying. 

            The man staggered back, crying out as he was blinded, trying to shield his face with his hands. The light from the ten elves filled the village, and the bandits stumbled over each other to get out of there, screaming like mad men. Once the bandits were on the run, the elves once again shielded themselves and charged the remaining few. Arrows from their ship took care of the fleeing men.

            None escaped alive.

*     *     *     *

            Niphredil had received a small head wound from an arrow graze, but the rest of the elves were unharmed. The village, on the other hand, had suffered major damage. Once the bandits were down, Náriel rounded up the surviving villagers and got them putting out fires before it spread to the surrounding buildings.  

            Three people were lost in the fires, sixteen to the bandits. Six of the lost were children. Four buildings were partially destroyed and another two burnt to the ground. The cattle and sheep were broken out of their pens and roaming the hills now, terrified of the fire.

            "We've lost everything," Robin whispered when Náriel found him half-crushed under two dead bandits. "Oh, my lady…"

            "Lord Robin Goodfellow, you have lost many things, but not everything," Náriel said, softening her voice as she heaved the carcasses off him. "Your horses and sheep and cattle can be rounded up. Your homes can be rebuilt and fields re-sown. Your people have lost lives yes, and it was a sorrowful day. But everything? Nay, you have not lost everything." She lifted him into her arms as though he was a child and carried her to where Cenendril, Bregolas and Feredir were setting up a makeshift hospital. 

            "Call in the ship," Legolas ordered wearily. "We will need the medical supplies."

            Bregolas nodded, took a horn from his belt and let out two clear blasts. There was an answer horn call from the ship, and then Lalaith and Gilwen, the youngest of the crew, pulled the ship around and headed back for the wharf. 

            Náriel was kneeling by a wounded woman, checking to see how severe the burns she had received on her face and chest were when Legolas touched her shoulder. She glanced at him. "Legolas?"

            He was covered with soot from battling the fires, and he looked rather frightening with his dark blue eyes and blond hair speckled with black. "My Lady, Ninglor and I wish to go out and help the villagers round up their flocks."

            "That is fine, Legolas."

            "That was not my question."

            Náriel sat back on her heels and looked at him. "What is it, meldir?"

            Legolas motioned with his head and Náriel stood, following him out of hearing range. "We should send out scouts, to see if we can locate any of our kin in this area."

            "Legolas, I think we should stay here and help the humans."

            "My Lady, all respect but you have never lived in Middle-Earth. I have. We _must find out if there are any elves around this area. It is imperative to finding out if Morgoth has returned."_

            Náriel's face tightened in anger. "You still do not believe that he has come back?"

            "I merely wish to confirm your beliefs as fact. Is that too much to ask?"

            Náriel meant to turn away but Legolas caught her shoulder. "Náriel, listen to me. We are in danger her. We have only one way of escape; the ship. If that is burned or sabotaged we are stuck here. You must listen to me. Until we reach the elves we are in grave danger, and especially now. No doubt if Morgoth has returned, he will have spies everywhere. No doubt, he knows of our return. We must get undercover and disappear for a while, until we can organize the resistance. Lady, please. You must listen to me."

            Náriel sighed. "As you wish, Legolas," she said. "Send out the scouts. But Legolas," she added. "I am not going to leave these people until they are on the road to recovery."

            Legolas' face said he clearly did not agree with the delay, but he bowed anyway and turned to aid a child whose hand was badly burned. 

            Náriel watched silently as he walked away, and knew with the bitterness of foresight that this would not be the first time they disagreed. 

*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*

*Remember in The Two Towers before the wall is breached and the elves are standing on the walls and shooting at the orcs, and Aragorn yells "SWORDS!" or something like that and all the elves draw swords that look remarkably like the ones used in the Battle of the Last Alliance, except the blades are shorter? The shorter type is what Náriel is using. 


	6. Chapter Six: Awaiting

Title:

The Last Daughter of the Noldor

Disclaimer:

Despite what Jesse says in this story, I do not have any contacts with Christopher Tolkien, and J.R.R. Tolkien did not write this story. All recognizable characters are Tolkien's and I do not own them. I am not making money off this. This story was written purely for enjoyment only. I do not claim that Legolas, Fingolfin, Finarfin, or any other names or places invented by Tolkien are mine.

Series:

None

Spoilers:

A few minor ones for _The Silmarillion_

Feedback: LadyoftheRings35@hotmail.com

Summary:

Fëanor was the greatest of the Noldorin elves that had ever lived. He had seven sons who went with him to Middle-Earth to reclaim the Silmarils from Morgoth, a fallen Vala. The Noldor declared war on Morgoth, and in the end, he was driven from Middle-Earth and locked away with the aid of the Valar—now his only daughter, some thousands of years later, must help save Middle-Earth from Morgoth's return.

A/N:

What the--? How the--? Argh! I can't believe I gave the same name to two chapters…I must have been spazing that day…I am so sorry…here is the correct chapter…

Also,

I understand your concerns about bringing Legolas into a story with an elf-princess who goes to Middle-Earth to save the world—even to my ears, and I'm the author, it sounds like a Mary-Sue. But I assure you that, at least from my point of view, it is not. As the chapters progress she does make serious mistakes—mistakes that cost her lives and alliances. Either from pride, for she is indeed quite prideful, or lack of experience, she does make mistakes. A Mary-sue, as far as I can gather, is a character who is too "perfect." Pretty, smart, never makes mistakes, etc. With elves you have a slight problem since they are very wise and very beautiful, which is two out of three—but they still make mistakes. Also, it's less what I think is a Mary-sue as what you think is a Mary-sue. My personal opinion of a Mary-sue are those horrible, repetitive stories with shallow Legolas romances or "girl gets dumped it middle earth and falls for elf" stories, which drive me nuts. But for each reader, it is different. And I promise you, this is NOT going to be a romance—they do NOT fall in love—not by a long shot. When I say friendship, that is all I mean. If it seems like she's Mary-sue, please forgive me. By my opinion she is not but that means nothing because everyone is different. Some readers may think she is and some may think she isn't; but whatever you guys think, I do appreciate your comments. :-)

Chapter Six

Awaiting

            Náriel waited long into the night for Legolas and Ninglor to return from their scouting. She refused to let the other elves see her worry, but the worry was there all the same. She chafed at the wait, wishing she had had more time to speak with Legolas before he had left. She was not truly very angry with him—a little annoyed but not angry. It would be terrible if he was hurt or killed and the last thing she said to him was to countermand his advice.

            He was her friend. He had helped convince the rest of her companions to come with them back to Middle-Earth. He was one of the only elves in the group who had even been to Middle-Earth. Only Ninglor, Legolas' friend and distant kin, had lived in Middle-Earth. The other elves had, herself included, had all been born in Valinor.

            "My Lady?"

            Náriel turned as Robin approached her. He was not particularly handsome by an elf's standard, but he was certainly handsome by a human's. He had brown hair and light green eyes, and a rather innocent, babyish face. "Lady, the villagers and I wish to thank you for helping us to fight the bandits. Our losses would have been much more severe if you and your kind had not helped us."

            Náriel could not suppress a slight smile. The alliance begins, she thought, not without excitement. "It was our pleasure to help our kin."

            Robin's mouth dropped open in shock. "K-kin?" he stammered. "You—we—you're—"

            Náriel frowned, puzzled. "Humans and Elves have always been close kin, closer than any other race of Middle-Earth. Surely you knew this? There was a time when we even intermarried, though such marriages were often laced with sorrow and doom."

            Robin looked like someone had just bashed a rock against his head. He stared at her stupidly, a stunned look on his face. Náriel couldn't suppress a soft chuckle. "Surely, Lord Robin Goodfellow, it does not come as _that much of a surprise?"_

            "But—but you're immortal—how could you—how could we ever be related to an immortal race?"

            Náriel's smile faded as his comments on immortality reminded her about Legolas, who was still out there in the dark, alone but for Ninglor. "We are not immortal, Lord Robin. We can be slain, through sword or fire, ice or venom, grief or smoke we may die."

            "But it is something avoidable," Robin protested. "Our mortality is inescapable."

            "Oh, child of Men, there in lies your mistake. For nothing is forever in Arda, which you call the World. Everything must die sometime, even the elves. For in time immeasurable by your people, we will die. Our life is bound to that of Arda; as Arda slowly ages, so do we, and when Arda dies, so too will we die." She turned and looked at him, and in the starlight, she appeared to Robin as one far different from himself, clothed in starlight and moonlight, and with eyes that seemed to light from within. "Death comes slower for us, but it is no less certain an end than for your kind."

            Robin was silent. This was all a bit shocking for him—if someone had told him a month ago that he was going to be talking to an Elven-Lady out of the stories of distant ages and being told that not even the Elves were immortal, he would have told that person to lay off of the ale. And yet here he was, being told just that.

            "But what happens if you are killed here?"

            "We go to the Halls of Waiting, where we are judged by our deeds in life. The greater the good we did, the quicker we are rehoused or reborn."

            "Rehoused?"

            "Put back into our bodies."

            Robin jumped back, startled. "Sacrilege!"

            "To you yes, for human spirits go elsewhere when you die. But for us it is part of life; we are bound to this world, we cannot leave it in life or in death."

            "Oh…" Robin said weakly, and decided a change of subject was in order. "Why don't you come inside? It's very cold out here."

            Náriel had changed into more earth-like colors now, wearing green and brown leggings and a shirt, with a vest embroidered with stars and forests laced loosely over the shirt. Her arms were bare to the cold sea breeze but she did not seem to be at all cold.

            "Thank you Lord Robin Goodfellow, but I will wait until my kin return."

            "Um, lady, it is really none of my business but…why did you come back now, after all these years?"

            "I have told you before, Lord Robin Goodfellow, we have come back to battle the Shadow's return."

            "But there have been no signs of the Shadow for thousands of years."

            "My Lord Robin Goodfellow, can you see me?"

            "Not very well no, Lady. It is very dark out."

            "My kin can, though, for our eyes see many things yours cannot. But if you cannot see me, does that mean I am not here?"

            "Of course you're here! I can hear you speaking!"

            "And if you cannot yet see him, does that mean that Morgoth is not here?"

            "If he has, Lady—if he has returned, what does that mean for Men?"

            She slowly turned her head to look at him, and though he could not see her face clearly, he got the impression that her face was very grave. "It means that the Final Battle might not be far off."

            "What?"

            "At the end of the World it is prophesied that all men, dwarves and elves that have ever lived will return to life and be given a choice; to fight along side the Valar and defeat the Shadow, or fight with Morgoth and destroy all of Arda. Even the Valar do not know who will choose what side. If the Valar win, then all the world will become paradise. If we loose, all of Arda is lost in Shadow forever. I pray that this will indeed be the Final Battle, that the Shadow on Arda-Marred will be healed once and for all, but I think not. Nay, that day is still lost in the future somewhere."

            At that moment, before Robin had a chance to think up a reply, there came a whinny of horses and the soft thud-thud of their hooves on soft ground. Náriel sprang from her sitting position and sped to the outskirts of the village, staring in the moonlight for any sign of Legolas on the bare and open hills surrounding the village. 

            "Legolas! _Ha le?"_

            "_Haim."_

            Náriel closed her eyes in relief as Legolas and Ninglor rode up. "What news?" she asked in a steady voice. 

            "We have located a group of elves who are willing to talk, half a day's ride from here," Ninglor said as he jumped lightly down from the horse. 

            "Where did you get the horses?" Náriel asked.

            "We found them on the way back; they appear to be some of the bandit's horses. We brought them back to the village."

            She smiled at them both. "A wise choice. Go rest, you have done much today, _mellyn-nîn."_

            She slipped the bridles off the horse's heads and they followed her back to the village. Ninglor gratefully went ahead to rest, but Legolas hung back to speak with her. 

            "The elves are disorganized and afraid, Lady Náriel. They are willing to listen, but I am not very hopeful. Our kin have changed in the last thousands of years; they are rustic and wild, unpredictable, and their language is strange and hard to understand. It will not be easy to convince them."          

            "I suspected as much." Náriel stopped and Legolas turned. "Legolas…"

            "Yes?" he said when she did not immediately speak.

            "I am sorry."

            "Whatever for?"

            "For not listening to you earlier. It is a failing of mine; I always think I know best. And I am…" she stopped.

            "Prideful?" A small smile crept onto his face and he stepped towards her. "Leaders often do, Lady, and you often follow the best course anyway. You at least know when to yield. But I sense that is not all you wish to speak of?"

            Náriel hesitated. "Legolas, I just do not want to loose you. I was afraid you would not come back at all, tonight when you were late. You are my closest friend and my most trusted adviser. I would not be here without your help. If you were to die, I would miss you."

            Legolas smiled outright now. "I must be late to meet with you more often, if I receive so many compliments on my character," he teased. 

            Náriel laughed aloud and cuffed him playfully. "Do not go getting yourself killed Legolas."

            "As you wish, Lady Náriel."

            "Stop calling me that."

            "Yes, Lady," Legolas said impishly, and had to duck as she threw a horses' bridle at him. 

            "Your parents should have followed a human custom and spanked you as child!"

            Legolas stifled a chuckle. "What makes you think they didn't?" he asked lightly, dancing back.

            Náriel laughed again. "Well said, my friend. All right, truce for tonight?"

            "Truce."

            "Unless, of course, I decide to toss you overboard in your sleep."

            Legolas' eyes danced. "I would dearly love to see you try, my Lady."

            The two laughed as they put the horses away. And for one night at least, the elves from Valinor were happy. 

*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*

*Please note that when Náriel is talking about the Final Battle and the prophesy of the end of the world, there actually was an essay about that in one of the History of Middle-Earth series, that the world's fate would be decided in one final, huge battle with men and dwarves and elves choosing what side they would fight upon. If the Valar won, Arda would become paradise. I can't remember exactly what book it was in, it's been forever since I read that series…if any of you know what book it was in, do let me know in a review. I have twisted this prophecy slightly to use it in my own story. 

Hale=is it you? Literally, Legolas, it-thee?

Haim=It is I, literally it-I. 

mellyn-nîn = my friends, literally friends-my.


End file.
